


the rest of the world falls away (and it's only us)

by elizaham8957



Series: Tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, OH WELL guess I'll just have to write them all, Prom, Sorry Not Sorry, also can you tell I'm salty that Jeff denied us the simple things like prom and graduation, because i am, post 6a, this is uh... super fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: This entire night is giving Lydia a rushing feeling of déjà vu that she can’t quite shake.Not that she’s complaining— for once in her life, this sense of familiarity iswelcome,not making her wonder if her brain is trying to warn her against some imminent danger threatening to ruin her and her friends’ lives again.But as soon as Stiles pulls his jeep into her driveway, bounding out and rushing up her driveway, that plastic corsage box in his hand, it hits her. Déjà vu.





	the rest of the world falls away (and it's only us)

**Author's Note:**

> This is another thing I wrote as a prompt on tumblr-- the prompt was "things you said with no space between us." I'm still taking them [here](https://stilesssolo.tumblr.com/post/163841197274/send-me-a-pairing-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write) if you'd like to submit one! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

This entire night is giving Lydia a rushing feeling of déjà vu that she can’t quite shake.

Not that she’s complaining— for once in her life, this sense of familiarity is _welcome,_ not making her wonder if her brain is trying to warn her against some imminent danger threatening to ruin her and her friends’ lives again.

But as soon as Stiles pulls his jeep into her driveway, bounding out and rushing up her driveway, that plastic corsage box in his hand, it hits her. Déjà vu.

This time, he’s in a tux, not a shirt and tie, and her dress is long and emerald green, not short and silvery. This time, she wants to go with him because they're together now and she _loves_ him, not because her best friend coerced her into going with him as punishment.

They had gotten Stiles back approximately three weeks before prom, and it should have been the _last_ of their worries— he had missed months of classes, there had been another round of murders, thanks to their resident undead Nazi were-lion (seriously, this town just kept getting _weirder),_ and there were so many more things that should have taken priority over something as mundane as _prom._ But Stiles had spotted her dress hanging on the back of her closet while they were curled up together in her bed, a week after the Hunt was sent on its way. She’d bought it _ages_ ago, back when the concept of Stiles was more of an absent feeling than a concrete certainty that there was someone she was missing, when Scott had insisted that of _course_ they were going to prom and of _course_ they were going to have a normal, fun night. But then her life had become consumed with finding a way back to Stiles, and prom had taken a back seat. Not that Lydia had been particularly attached to the idea of going in the first place: she didn’t exactly have a good track record with school dances— her first being with Jackson and her second ending with her in the hospital. But when Stiles had asked her that very night, eyes warm and smile earnest, she couldn’t refuse him.

And now, she can actually _remember_ that night, more than two years ago— remember things other than a dark lacrosse field and her vision fading black as Peter sunk his teeth into her side. She remembers _Stiles,_ how he managed to make her feel like a _person,_ not an object or a prize, and how he knew how smart she was, even when she tried more than anything to hide it from the rest of the world. Remembers his arms around her and his head almost on her shoulder as they swayed to the music in the hot gymnasium. Remembers the look of awe on his face when she primly told him she’d be winning a Field’s Medal and agreed to dance with him.

Funnily enough, they're in almost the same spot now— the gym is decorated in an eerily similar manner, and Coach is patrolling the edges of the dancefloor, whistle in mouth. They sit at a table on the outskirts of the dance floor, where they can see Scott and Malia dancing to the upbeat music the DJ is playing. Lydia knows they probably _should_ go dance— it is prom, after all— but she finds instead she’s perfectly content to stay here at this table, her hand in Stiles’s as she just soaks in the comfortable feeling of having him here with her, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand.

Evidently Stiles is thinking along the same lines as her, because he drops her hand, standing to face her, his eyes light and carefree and _happy._ There’s no supernatural crisis here; no villain to defeat or puzzle to solve. It’s just them, together, doing normal things like normal teenagers. Lydia wishes it could last forever, this comfortable ease of having no more battles to fight.

“Wanna dance?” Stiles asks her with a confident smile, calling her back to that original dance they went to together.

“Pass,” Lydia replies haughtily, but she’s smirking, already standing and taking his hand. He just shakes his head at her, his eyes shining.

“What, no ‘get off your cute little ass and dance with me’ this time?” she asks as he leads her to the dance floor, past other clusters of their classmates.

“You seem fully aware that you have a cute ass,” Stiles tells her, looping his arms around her waist. The song is fast, but he still pulls her in close, the two of them swaying softly to the upbeat music.

They sway in silence for a moment, just drinking each other in— it still seems a little unreal to her, having Stiles here. For so long she had insisted he was real while the rest of the world doubted her— it still amazes her, sometimes, seeing him in front of her, just like nothing has changed.

“What?” Stiles asks, and Lydia can tell he knows what she’s thinking. She knows sometimes _he’s_ still amazed he made it back as well.

“Was I really the first girl you ever danced with?” she asks, changing the subject. Stiles groans, his cheeks turning ever so slightly pink. In the background, Lydia registers that the music has changed; it’s an old song, slower, and she recognizes it from that same first dance together, in this very gymnasium, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Let’s _not_ relive how _supremely_ uncool I was at the beginning of high school, okay?” Stiles asks, his fingers tracing along her bare back. She smirks beautifully at him, playing with the hair at the base of his neck, brushing up against her hand. “I’m still kind of amazed you said you’d go with me.”

“It was for Allison,” Lydia says, her eyes losing a little of their light, her smile growing a little sadder. “As payback for—”

“Oh, I know,” Stiles interjects, his grin morphing into more of a grimace. “I chained Scott to a radiator and made him eat out of a dog bowl on the full moon for that.”

 _“What?”_ Lydia replies, eyes wide, trying to keep herself from laughing at the look on her boyfriend’s face.

“Not my best moment, I’ll admit,” Stiles says, his smile turning sheepish. Lydia just beams at him, shaking her head in disbelief.

They keep swaying to the music, other people coupling up around them. But Lydia feels as if they’re in their own little bubble, unconcerned with the rest of their classmates and anything going on around them. She lets her forehead drop onto Stiles’s shoulder, his arms tightening around her, pulling her in close. She’s overcome with it all, suddenly: he’s real, he’s _here,_ his hands heavy and warm on her back, his forehead resting against her head. She found him. He found _them._

“I’m so glad we got you back,” she whispers into him, his heartbeat steady beneath her hands, and it seems like there is no space between them, nothing else but Stiles and Lydia, the rest of the world fading out into obscurity. “I’m so glad we found you.”

“I know,” Stiles whispers back. “I am too.”


End file.
